Listen For His Voice

 When I was dealing with cancer, 14 years ago, I would often lay awake in the wee hours of the morning. One O'clock. Two O'clock. Couldn't sleep. My mind was on fast forward and I couldn't shut it off. Too many "what if's" racing through my head. What if the chemo doesn't work? What if the surgery goes wrong? What if I loose my hair? (OK...That one was already in progress and it wasn't from the medicine!) What if my family has to go on without me?

What if I die?

The "what if's" were a major problem, but I didn't want to tell anyone. I was determined to tough it out on my own. Besides, who could help me anyway?! So I lay there, night after night. I tossed and I turned. I got up and played on my computer. I lay back down and tossed some more. 

Then one night, as the darkness of the room tried to hide all hope, I thought about Job and how he was in distress and how he questioned God. That did not go so well for him, but it got me thinking. Many characters from the bible crossed my mind. Then it hit me...Elijah. God caused a strong wind, then a great fire followed by an earthquake, but He was not in those.Then God spoke to Elijah in a still small voice. God asked Elijah, "What are you doing here?" While I did not hear a voice, I did get the message. What was I doing?! It was not so much what I WAS doing as what I was NOT doing. I was not trusting God. I was not listening for His voice. I was feeling sorry for myself! Then I did something I had needed to do the whole time...I prayed. I turned the whole mess over to God...and I slept. For the first time in a long time, I slept. When I woke up I was determined that I was not going to let the "waht if's" get back in my head. 

You know what? My chemo treatments went fine. My surgery went perfectly. God handled the heavy lifting when I finally got out of the way!

It is not easy to turn your situation over to God sometimes. It's hard, actually. But if we stop getting in the way with our worries and listen for that still small voice, we may just find God in the room with us! He may not be in what the doctors have to say. He may not be in what we read on the internet. He may just be in that still small voice we hear in His whisper,"I got this. Get out of the way and let Me handle things." 

Listen? Can you hear it?

Brushes With Fame On The Car Lot

 Celeb sightings part two!

I have mentioned before that I spent about ten years working as a Used Car Salesman. During that time I was privileged to meet many people...some of them famous! You never know who you will stumble into on a car lot. 

In 1998 I was working for a Cadillac dealership near Dallas. We also sold very nice used vehicles and that is where I spent most of my time. However, I would venture down to the main store from time to time, and that was where I met a fella whom I had admired through the magic of television. He was one of my favorite pro football players of all time. Preston Pearson of the World Champion Dallas Cowboys! He wore that number 26 jersey like a king wears a crown! He was "Mr. 3rd down and short" and was the "go to" guy for Roger Staubach for years. Pearson was in our dealership with his press agent who was buying a new Cadillac Escalade. Unfortunately I was not the one selling it. He offered to sign 8X10 photos of himself in action. I took him up on the offer. 

Not long after that incident I found my way to a new dealership. It was located in Terrell, Texas. That is why I happened to meet the next guy. I was in the Ford building for some reason when I looked up and saw a young man I knew looked familiar. I wasn't sure why, but he did. I walked over and apologized for staring at him and asked his name. "Jamie Foxx", he replied. Yes! I said, "You're Ugly Wanda!" He laughed and said he was indeed Ugly Wanda. I should explain for any youngsters reading this that Ugly Wanda was a character on a show called In Living Color on a new network called "The WB." Foxx was at the dealership to buy his mom a new car. A nice Taurus, as I recall. He was rather stand-offish, but not rude.

Shortly after I met Foxx I was working the early shift on the used car side. I watched as a nice Cadillac stopped in front of the building. I walked up and asked if I could help them, but the man said he was there to see the manager. I said, "He isn't here yet." Seems he wanted to put up a poster in our building advertising a night of wrestling nearby. It was then that I realized who the man was. Scandar Akbar! Famous in the wrestling world. I had watched him work for years! Now, here he was in front of me! I told him to leave the poster with me and I would get the approval personally! As he drove away it occurred to me that I hadn't even asked for an autograph! Rats!! 

You never know when that brush with fame will happen, so keep a sharp eye and a Sharpee on you!

Celeb Sightings!

 Over the years (and there have been plenty of those!) I have had the pleasure of either meeting famous people or having "brushes with fame." Either way it was kinda cool. 

While in college in Searcy, Arkansas, I was involved with the campus cable TV news. On a particularly fine morning I recived a call from the faculty sponsor of the station asking me to accompany a group from the station that was going to do a stand up interview with a celebrity who was performing in our area. Many of you will not have a clue who this celeb was, but others will know the name but remember his big one-hit-wonder song. Here's a hint: He married his wife (Miss Vickie) on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Another hint? Okay...He was known for "Tip Toeing" through life. Do you know him? Give up? It was Tiny Tim, the 1960's "Tip Toe Through The Tulips" guy! I went along to photograph the whole trip. It was a blast!

One other occasion I was in Mount Pleasant, Texas, when I brushed with greatness. I had driven my mother to a doctor's visit and grew hungry. Of course there wasn't a vending machine to be found in the building, so I walked across the highway to a convenience store to find sustenance and libation! I ended up with a Coke and a candy bar. Before making my final choices I decided it was a good time to hit the bathroom. So I did. As I reached to open the door it opened from the other side. A tall, well dressed,  older gentleman said, "Excuse me." and was gone. While paying for my selections I asked the guy behind the counter if he had noticed the man I described. He said, "Oh yes! He's a regular!" Then he asked me, "Didn't you recognize him?" I did not. "Who was he?" I asked. Come to find out he was a famous country and western singer. Ray Price to be exact! My butt had sat on the same toilet seat as Ray Price! Holy cats!

Years later I would have yet another opportunity to meet a famous person. I was working for a car dealership in Greenville, Texas. As an incentive to boost sales, the owners had challenged the sales team to sell 300 units in the month of February, If we met this goal we would be treated to a fancy steak dinner in one of the Dallas area's finest restaurants. We did. We were! Morton's Steak House in Addison, Texas, was the scene of our soiree. (That is pronounced Swar-ay in case y'all were wondering.) We even had an after dinner speaker. None other than Mr. Randy White (HOF '94) formerly of the Dallas Cowboys! Before the dinner we were each given a photo op with Mr. White. I spoke with him for about five minutes and moved on. He was one cool dude!

There have been other celeb sightings, but that'll do for now.

Ahhh the fun we little folk garner from being close to greatness...

In The Days Of Noe

 Years ago, in a far away place, in the mystical land of Noe, there lived a car salesman...me. I spent about ten years in that field and loved almost every minute of it! (There were times, though...)

I guess you could say I was a journeyman salesman. I was never satisfied enough to stay at one dealership more than a year or so, so I would "journey" on over to, or back to, a different one. Sometimes I left because I was restless. Sometimes I left  because they asked me to! I think I got "asked to leave" at least twice maybe three times from one dealership! Being fired from a dealership meant nothing if you were good at what you did. You could have a new place to work before you went ten miles down the road. I know because I did it! I worked for and was fired from the same dealership for about 5 of those ten years. Randall Noe Auto Group was a three part conglomerate: Ford, Dodge-Jeep Chrysler, and a separate Used Car Supercenter. I worked out of the Supercenter. I never sold a new vehicle if I could help it. There was no money to be made in new cars unless you sold in volume. I much preferred to sell one used car or truck and make $1000 in the same amount of time. And I did so often! My apologies to any of you to whom I sold a used vehicle, but fat boys gotta eat!

I often made my way up to the Ford store. They were all situated within yards of each other. My good friend "Loop" (Looper) worked there and was also a dang good salesman. One of my best sales was to Loop. It wasn't a car. No no...something even better! You see...I played the lotto numbers back then and one night I matched 5 out of the 6 numbers! Paid me a whopping $675! I, however, had no desire to find and make my way to the lotto headquarters in Dallas to cash the ticket in! I told Loop about my situation and he offered to "help me out" by taking the ticket off my hands for $500 cash. SOLD!

A couple of days later Loop found me and told me he had mde the trip to Dallas and cashed in. He then told me that the lottery commission deducts taxes from anything over a certain amount. It seems I came out pretty sweet on the deal! Sorry Loop! (He probably came out about even on it in actuality.)

I had lots of good times working at the RNAG. If I could stay away from the owner I was completely at peace! I got quite good at spotting him and the GM lurking around the stores in unmarked cars watching for folks loafing. I stayed on the lot watching for customers, so I had nothing to worry about, but the idea of dealing with them just held no appeal to me. 

From time to time the Used Car Director, my man Mayo, would decide we needed to eat a good meal and we would fire up the grill out back around the corner of the building! Everyone pitched in and we bought meat and veggies to grill. Those were some of the best times I remember! Mayo passed a few years ago. I would almost bet you that the bottom line profit there dropped like a rock in a vacuum! He made that place rock! He also made me a ton of commission. It was a great thing to work a deal with Mayo. You were sure to make a large commission! I once made over $2000 on one sale!

RNAG has since sold out to one of those Dallas based chain dealerships. I would not work for them on a dare. I hate the chain stores and their ways of doing business. But my memories of Mayo, Loop, and all things "car-sales" related remain etched in my mind. An old salesman told me the first day I was hired by a dealership, "Son. Make sure this is what you want to do, because it will get in your blood." He was right. If my health would let me I would be selling cars to this day...somewhere. It gets in your blood.

What Did He Say?

 As I mentioned in an earlier post, I attended Kilgore Junior College and was quite well known at the student union building. While I was very satisfied with hustling young men for their money on the pool tables I also took an interest in the action on the dominoe tables. I became far more interested in the language of the game than the matching of dots. I watched. I learned. Then one day I was invited to sit in on a game as the others were one player short. I had been studying the art of the game for awhile and felt pretty comfortable as a participant. To put it mildly, I wowed the regulars. I was one of only two white guys to be seen playing the games with the black players. Competition was tough! 

The thing that intrigued me most was the colorful terms used for calling count when someone scored. Examples would be: "Fido was a biting dog!" Used when some one scored five points. Other terms for five points were "Nick Willie!" "Nick Bouniconti!" and of course "Nic him, don't cut him!" Should a player score ten points you might hear, "Tenderloin beef steak ketsup and gravy!" or, "Tin top roof don't leak when it rains!" Should one be on his game and score fifteen points you were sure to hear "Ella, Della, and Luella!" Another favorite for fifteen was "Three sisters!" (Probably based on Ella and friends.) When someone repeated the person's count that had just scored they would holler "Don't get excited. Just rewrite it!" Twenty, you ask? That would be cause for a loud shout of "Boats!" or "Bow Ties!" Twenty-five? That was "Quarterhorse!" or "Quarter mule!" There were times that folks scored the elusive 30 and 35, but those were usually followed by the phrase "Get up! You don't play good no way!" 

I believe I enjoyed the banter more than the game itself. 

The players themselves were so colorful I couldn't wait to get a game going daily! There was Cuba. Cuba was a light skinned young guy with two gold teeth who loved talking trash. Then there was Himby. Himby was the other white guy allowed to play at the main tables. I credit Himby with the creation of the phrase "tenderloin beefsteak ketsup and gravy." There were so many it is hard to remember them all. One young man who played a pretty mean hand was named Darryl. If I told you Darryl could sing like a bird I'd be understating his talent. The old heads came to play as well. "Preacher" was well...a preacher at a nearby church who played "inspired" you might call it. Then there was Coach Johnny Rossum. He ran the SUB for the college and coached as an assistant on the football team. Johnny Rossum could play some dominoes! 

I still miss those days and the smack talk at the dominoe tables. I miss my frind Johnny Rossum too. He died a few years ago, I heard. I bet he went and organized a game in heaven.

Step Right Up! School's In Session!

 

From August of 1978 until December of 1980 I attended one of those places intended for "higher learning". I was 18 and figured I would continue my education. It seemed better than going to work in the East Texas oil fields. Kilgore Junior College... It had many names: "Harvard On The Highway!" "The University Of Southern Kilgore!" You get the picture. 

At first I was a good student. I went to class and was doing decent, grade wise. Then one day I stumbled upon a magical place right there on campus. I was headed to the campus book store and, as fate would have it, I turned right instead of left. A quick ancent up a flight of stairs and BAM! I had discovered a whole new world! The SUB. Short for Student Union Building. It consisted of a fully functioning snack bar, people playing cards, people playing dominoes, and to my delight...people playing pool! You see, I was a pretty fair hand at pool. I had been playing since I was about five years old and had become quite fond of the game. My dad taught me to play while attending the festivities at a local tavern on a regular basis. Back then noone thought anything of a little kid and his dad being in such an establishment. There were no Karens in those days to call CPS on you. People minded their own business and stayed out of that of other folks. Before long, dad baught us a regulation sized pool table for our house. So you can understand my delight at seeing multiple tables in this new found haven of rest for the weary student.

I watched as young men played, and then I noticed something. Money seemed to be changing hands at the end of the game. I was intrigued. I calmly watched and learned which players played for money. To challenge the table you simply placed a quarter on the rail to signify that you had the winner. We played for an amount determined at the start of the game. It had to be kept "on the down low", as they say, because gambling was expressly discouraged. There were actually signs saying just that hanging above the tables!

My normal fee for "lessons" was $1 payable in cash immediately upon conclusion of the game. No credit. No cards. Cash only. I was in heaven! So many suckers...er...young men in need of a pool lesson. I would soon find myself spending every morning at the SUB handing out grades, usually a "D"...for defeated! I could easily leave with about $50-$60 in my pocket after arriving with only a couple of bucks that morning. So easy. Sooooo easy. Remember, this was 1978 when $50 was worth what today would be about $300! Who needed a job?! 

Then reality set in. My time at the SUB had eaten into my classroom time. My grades were horrible because I rarely went to class. I was making too much money to be bothered. But that all finally caught up to me. I had a 0.84 GPA and was put on academic probation. I dropped out of school and went to work at a machine shop for six bucks an hour. Forty hours a week pulled in about two thirds what I was making having fun in about 20 hours a week. That's life I suppose. 

Here I am forty-four years later and I haven't seriously picked up a stick in all that time.What a waste. Oh, but what a time I had for those two years?! Separating those young men from their money was great fun! Especially those cocky fellas who talked a big game but fell short when it did not translate to their sticks! I sometimes think it would be fun to get back into practice, but the reality is I just don't have the heart to take folk's money in these hard times! Besides... Folks will shoot you these days for taking their money! 

But PT Barnum was right ya know?

Hey! That's My Finger!

 

Yet another incident that happened just minutes before quitting time at the jail. 

There was just 30 minutes left in my day. I was finishing up paperwork from a transport, when a call came over the radio that Greenville PD needed assistance with a combative customer at the back door. Since I was only about fifty feet from there I figured I should respond. Right? Wrong.  I should have let somebody else do it! I pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I headed out of the book-in department and approached the area in question. Greenville PD and their substance addled friend came through the door into the holding area. He clearly wasn't interested inbeing a guest at the Hunt County Hilton! The control room opperator, watching on camera, saw that I was there and popped the electronic lock on the inner door for me to enter the area and help. I was just about to slide sideways through the door when the fine, upstanding citizen in question decided to jerk away from the Greenville officer. When he did this he stumbled into the door I was about to go through causing it to slam shut. My left hand was still on the door frame at that time which caused a party I'd just as soon not have been invited to! You see, these doors weigh hundreds of pounds and they slam with an unforgiving force. 

In the heat of the moment I yanked my hand back out of instinct. I did not notice the door was already shut on my finger. I was running on adrenaline and as quickly as the door was reopened I went after the inmate. That's when I had one of those odd feelings that something wasn't right. I looked at my right glove and saw that the tip of the pinky finger part was ripped. I peered inside and...let's just say my first thought was "It ain't ever looked like THAT before! I must have been in shock because all I remember was telling the cops, "He cut my freaking finger off!" It wasn't hurting. It was just mangled.

About that point another transport officer came and saw my hand and all the blood. She grabbed me by the arm and said, "We need to get you to the ER." Off we went! All along the way I kept stopping and showing people my hand and repeating "He cut my freaking finger off!" It was just the end of the finger, but it was MY end of MY finger and I had grown quite attached to it over the years!

The trip to the hospital was "interesting" to say the least. My partner was driving like a 1970's  Meatloaf  song, you know...A Bat Out Of...well you understand I'm sure. I was laughing and telling her I can live without the end of my finger. Don't get us killed!" 

When we arrived the ER folks asked what we were there fore. I just held up my bloody hand and they jumped up and took me to the trauma room. Soon the feeling was coming back to my hand and it was not a good thing! The nice nurses hooked me up to a morphine drip and I was once again feeling no pain! We had a great time taking selfies with my jacked up hand and my morphine bag! I liked my morphine bag! Before long the doctor came in and did his thing. He was actually able to save the end of the finger and reattach it! Once the morphine wore off the pain came back, but I had a perscription for something or other and my wife, who had been called by my partner, took me to the pharmacy where I regaled them with my story while waiting on my meds.

After two or three months of rehab and other such fun I was able to return to work. I did not, however, make it a habit to offer my assistance with combative newcomers to the jail after this incident! 

By the way, the guy who caused this ruckus got 5 years for assault causing serious bodily injury.